The Weight of What I Let Go
Weight loss was just the beginning. What I’m really shedding are old patterns, people-pleasing, and the pressure to be everything to everyone.
Photo by Ch_pski
Losing weight has changed my health, but what’s surprised me most is everything else I’ve started to lose — the weight, yes, but also the noise, the expectations, and some of the roles I used to live inside.
I’ve lost 55 pounds. I’m tapering off my GLP-1 medication now, dosing down slowly. I’m so ready for that phase. A little nervous, sure, but excited to lose the side effects and see how I do “on my own.”
But lately, I’ve realized the shedding hasn’t just been physical.
Weight loss was a catalyst, the same way a breakup, a loss, or any big life shift can be. It cracked something open. And once it did, everything else that wasn’t meant to stay started shaking loose too.
The Next Layer of Shedding
I expected smaller clothes, maybe a bit more energy. I didn’t expect smaller circles or shifting relationships.
Some people have become my ride-or-dies. The ones cheering for me, not just because I look different, but because I am different. They see me trying to live more intentionally and meet me there.
Others… quietly faded. I started to notice which friendships only survived because I kept initiating, planning, and smoothing things over. When I stopped doing that, some connections just went still.
It’s strange - and, if I’m honest, a little uncomfortable to admit that out loud. I’ve always been the organizer, the doer, the one who made things happen. It’s how I felt useful, how I stayed connected, how I read the room and adjusted myself to make sure everyone else was comfortable. It came naturally, and professionally, it’s a strength. I’m a strategic thinker; I can see outcomes three steps ahead.
But in friendships, that same skill can turn into over-functioning. I’ve spent years trying to anticipate what people needed before they asked, or shaping myself into the version I thought they wanted. When I stopped doing that — when I stopped carrying all the initiative — some relationships simply stopped moving.
That was the uncomfortable part: realizing that being the dependable one isn’t the same as being truly seen.
Accepting People Where They Are
As I’ve gotten clearer about what I need, I’ve also learned to accept friends where they are.
Not everyone has to be a ride-or-die. Some friendships are light and lovely — people you see a few times a year, laugh with, and pick up right where you left off. Others run deeper, the ones who show up when life falls apart.
And honestly, both kinds matter. Some friends are the 3 a.m. ride-or-dies; others are the “I’ll bring the wine, you tell me the story” types. Both are worth keeping.
What’s changed is my expectation. I no longer expect everyone to meet me at the same depth I offer; I just try to appreciate the connection for what it is. When your self-worth steadies, so do your expectations. You stop grading friendships by intensity and start valuing them by authenticity.
Grief, Growth, and the In-Between
Here’s what I didn’t know about change: even the good kind comes with grief.
You grieve the version of yourself who coped the best she could. You grieve the friendships that fade, even if they end gently. You grieve the sense of certainty that came with all your old roles: the caretaker, the pleaser, the achiever.
Sometimes I catch myself thinking, Why did it take me this long to figure this out?
Maybe that’s just our generation talking — the one that came of age without seatbelts or therapy. We weren’t raised to pause and self-reflect. We were raised to “get on with it.”
But I’m learning that self-discovery doesn’t have an expiration date. Change comes when it’s ready, not when it’s scheduled. The past isn’t something to carry as shame; it’s something to hold as wisdom.
When Shedding Shows Up at Work, Too
This new clarity has trickled into my professional life as well. I’ve always been all in — the first to volunteer, the last to let go. But now I can tell when a project has run its course. Some things are meant to grow; others are meant to be enjoyed and released.
I still love my design work — remodeling kitchens, helping clients create spaces that feel personal and beautiful — but that’s work. Rewarding and creative, yes, but not how I unwind. How I relax looks different now.
Last weekend (don’t judge, as long as Halloween is over - Christmas can begin 😉 ), I spent an entire Saturday decorating my house for Christmas. No camera, no client, no “content.” Just me, holiday music, a few slightly crooked garlands, and a mug of cocoa that kept going cold because I was too busy hanging ornaments. It was simple, imperfect, and deeply satisfying.
That’s what creative peace looks like these days: my mind wandering, hands busy, zero agenda.
Redefining What’s “Work” and What’s “Worth It”
For years, everything I loved eventually turned into work — writing became publishing, design became branding, even travel turned into content.
Now, I let some things stay hobbies. Writing here on Substack, for example, it’s fun, relaxing, and community-building. My new Paris travel community and AI remodeling project? Those light up my curiosity. But I’m not chasing outcomes anymore. I’m following what feels meaningful and letting that be enough.
“Just get ’er done,” my dad used to say (as I have shared before), but maybe the trick at this stage of life is knowing which things are worth getting done and which are worth simply enjoying.
Shedding as Expansion
Shedding sounds like loss, but it’s really about expansion. When we release what no longer fits, whether that’s habits, friendships, or outdated expectations, we make space for something more authentic.
It’s still scary to step forward without the old safety nets, but I’ve learned that the other side of fear is freedom. I know it sounds cliché, but it really is true.
And maybe, just maybe, the late bloomers among us aren’t late at all.
Maybe we were just waiting until the world quieted down enough for us to finally hear ourselves think.
Concrete Note on the Physical Journey
55 lbs down and tapering off my GLP-1 medication. I’m ready for this new phase — a little nervous to lose the “crutch,” but excited to see how I do on my own and grateful to lose the side effects. In every measurable way, I’m the healthiest I’ve been in over twenty years. No more daily meds, just movement, joy, and balance. I still love ice cream - which might be a problem moving forward…
Share Your Story
I’d love to hear from others in this phase — the ones shedding more than just pounds or those who never needed to shed pounds but are learning to shed in other ways. Have you felt shifts in friendships, work, or identity?
I’m gathering real stories (anonymous is fine) for the sequel to The GLP-1 Revolution, which will explore the psychology of weight loss and maintenance — what happens inside us as much as what happens on the scale.
You can reply here on Substack or email me directly at info@deliciousperspective.com.